We're Gonna Finally Be Fine
by Rashaka
Summary: Season 3 short fics, post-episode. Jeff/Annie centric. 3x05 "Horror Fiction in Seven Spooky Steps." Is a monster born, or made?
1. Limits and Conditions

Okay, so I decided to try my hand at a post-ep ficlet for every episode this season. Since we're being benched for spring episodes, I'll have a bit of time to play. Here's the result, which I wrote back 3 months ago after the premier.

**TABLE OF CONTENTS:**

1. We're gonna fly to school each morning!  
2. We're gonna smile the entire time.  
3. We're gonna be more happy.  
4. We're gonna finally be fine.  
5. We're gonna get more calm and normal.  
6. We're gonna fix our state of mind.  
7. We're gonna be less crazy.  
8. We're gonna finally be fine!  
9. We're gonna stand holding hands in a brand new land, far away from the borderline!  
10. We're gonna sing like a mainstream dream!  
11. And be appealing to all mankind!  
12. We're gonna have more fun and be less weird than the first two years combined.  
13. And we're gonna live forever.  
14. And we're gonna sleep together.  
15. And we're gonna finally be sunny and shiny!  
16. We're gonna finally be _fine!_

* * *

**Spoilers:** 3x01

**Words:** 1,700

**Summary:** Friends don't let friends drive drunk on monkey gas.

* * *

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**BIOLOGY 101**:

**Limits and Conditions  
**

.

_We're gonna fly to school each morning!_

_._

_._

"Does Jeff look weird to you?" Troy had Annie cornered by the third vending machine. "Cause I think he looks really weird. He has crazy eyes. I keep wondering what happened to the axe."

Glancing back at their powdered friend, Annie had to wince. "Those aren't just crazy eyes, they're..._ special_crazy eyes." She widened her own eyes at Troy significantly, and nodded her chin.

Troy tapped his chin with his finger in imitation of Inspector Spacetime. "Like, pink eye special? Pablo got pink eye, but it didn't turn him into _The Shining_." Annie huffed a breath and gave up. She wasn't as good as Abed at separating Troy's actual naivety from his fake stupid-guy moments.

"I think he's on something. I'll take care of him, don't worry about it," she smiled, and guided her buddy back to the group. True to her word, as the party dispersed she skittered after Jeff with her school bag in her arms. They walked toward the parking lot companionably and when they were well away from the group she planted her feet in front of him.

He bumped right into her. He was so freakishly high up, it wasn't fair. "Jeff!" she complained, trying to wipe powder off her sweater. "You're covered in this stuff."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I had an accident in the vents. Chang had an accident too. I think there was a monkey, and a giant door."

"What kind of accident?"

"I'm pretty sure I accidentally inhaled the monkey gas." His eyes looked inflamed, his hair was a mess, and while she tried to see any broken blood vessels, he reached out a thumb to wipe white stuff off her nose. He gave a dopey smile. "You have some drywall stuff on your nose."

"From your shirt hitting me in the face, no doubt." She pushed his hand away and was resolute in her decision to ignore any contact from him since the debacle last spring. Reading too much into things,_ right_. He could go touch some other girl's nose and tell her not to read into it, thank you very much.

Annie summoned all her resolution and stared into his bloodshot gaze. "You can't possibly think you're going to drive home like this."

"Uh, yeeeeah. I am." Jeff pointed to the west end of the lot, which was not at all where his Lexus was parked. "My car's right over there."

"Well, I won't let you drive in your condition."

"Don't get try to get formidable, Annie, I've had a long day. And these—" He held up his keys, and she snatched them. "Hey!"

"Is for horses," Annie finished. She stuffed the keys into her bra, a location that time and again was proven safe from Jeff Winger. Then she grabbed at his fingers and started walking for her own little car. "You can't drive. Whatever you took, you don't know your limits as well as you think. You're intoxicated."

"How do you know?" he asked archly, and she tugged harder.

"Because you're letting me hold your hand without acting like I have cooties."

"Oh, well then," he said. His fingers almost covered hers, and Annie was aware of every nervous twitch as they crossed the blacktop. "If that's all you're worried about, I'm fine. It's just monkey gas."

She insisted, "I'm taking you home, Jeff Winger."

"Good." He yawned. "I'm tired. It's exhausting being Pierce."

"You're not Pierce." She replied without thinking through her words. "I've never wanted to kiss Pierce."

He faltered, "Annie, remember what I said in May about how some stuff is all in your imagination? Well, I think—"

"I don't care anymore." She let go of his hand to fling the passenger door open between them, and dart around to the driver's side. She heard him sigh and climb in.

Jeff's apartment was on the second floor but only a short walk down the hall from the staircase, which was good because it afforded her just enough time to open the door before he stumbled into the bathroom and began to empty his stomach. Annie stood by the entrance for a few minutes, torn between going in to comfort him, or allowing for the privacy his pride would demand. A particularly unpleasant groan came from behind the door, and she decided to heat up water for tea.

After a few minutes of extended ralphing, she heard the shower click on. Annie took up a celebrity magazine and sat down on his couch. The apartment was chill, but a knit throw was stuffed into the corner of the cushions, and Annie successfully fished it out. She cradled her blend of Assam and Darjeeling between her palms, taking small sips as she waited for him. He didn't shower as long as she expected, considering how vain Jeff was, and Annie lowered her tea cup just in time to see a tall, naked man stroll out of the bathroom.

"Oh my god," she squeaked.

"Annie!" he said in a thin, high voice. He managed to look even more confused than when driven him here.

All she could say was, "Oh. Oh my god."

"Why are you still here?"

"Why are you still naked?" her words rose several octaves, and Jeff looked down with equal curiosity for a second. Then he yelped in surprise and grabbed for a pillow. She threw the couch blanket at him.

His apologies followed him all the way to his bedroom. Annie thought about leaving right then. She'd gotten him home, right? She'd done the responsible friend thing and helped him get home safely. He clearly hadn't slipped and died in the shower, and she'd sort of gotten a free show out of the whole thing. This would be the right time to leave.

Annie bit her lip and sat down. She stared at the magazine again: Ben Chang's scratchy, slanted handwriting had invaded the editorial section with raunchy comments. She dropped it with a grimace.

"I _am_sorry, Annie." Jeff's voice stated it like they were in the middle of a conversation, and she wondered what he thought they were discussing. She turned to see him by the arm of the sofa, dressed in black jeans and a dark blue t-shirt. Annie stood up, and bit her bottom lip when she realized that he didn't smell like a chemical tank anymore. He smelled wonderful, like Colgate and some kind of expensive body soap. His eyes, bloodshot still, tracked her as she approached.

"For what?" Annie dared.

"I don't remember," he admitted. "I'm sure there's some reason. Did I...sing?"

She smiled, teasing out fond thoughts of him. She'd been trying so hard not to think fondly of Jeff, but it was difficult when the object of her fondness stood there all nice-smelling and vulnerable. "You hit the table with a fireman's axe."

He put a hand to the bridge of his eyes. "I remember that. Sorry."

"You raved a lot, and frothed at the mouth a bit."

"Blegh. I'm sorry bout that, too."

"And you kissed me."

"What? No I didn't!" His hand flew away from his eyes. He gazed around the room in a panic, then back at her. "Did I?"

Annie, who was terrible at being the villain, giggled at his face almost immediately. "No, I'm kidding. Just messing with you!" She jumped a step away, waving her hands.

"Oh," he said, and though she knew she was being childish to jest about it, Annie took a small sting of satisfaction from the whiff of disappointment in that single-word response. That was the Annie of it all, right there, and Jeff Winger could just suck on them apples. She picked up her purse and smiled winningly at him.

"Well, I gotta go….bust a tire, burn some rubber, all of that. See you at Greendale, Jeff."

She made a dash for the door, but his voice caught and held her. "Annie, wait!" Uncertain, she looked over her shoulder. "I know you're still mad at me." At this, Annie raised her eyebrows.

"You're mad at me for lying about Pierce and the group, and for wrecking the table, and..."

"...And?" she agreed. She watched as Jeff's jaw clenched under his stubble.

"And probably for mocking your feelings when school ended," he allowed. "But the truth is, I need you to be my friend. I want you to be my friend again."

"I thought we were all being friends again after your speech."

"I know that, and you brought me home, but..." Jeff rubbed at his neck with one hand, "I still want to ask. Since you attested that you weren't going to be my friend anymore. Like I said after the election, your opinion matters."

Letting herself relax into facing him, Annie pondered the man and the request. Oh, of course she was still his friend-she _had_practically kidnapped him for his own good-but this was typical behavior from Jeff. He needed to satisfy his own feelings of recalcitrance by getting her to define their friendship. Maybe this time she didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"I have a condition," said Annie.

Jeff blinked. His well-cut body leaned against the wall of the apartment, and his arms were in his pockets. She hadn't seen him look so open in months. Maybe she had never seen him look so open. His eyes were red, but clear.

"Alright," he replied in his most noncommittal lawyer voice. "What condition?"

"Hold still."

"Annie, come on—"

She crossed the space in two fleet steps, his words consumed by her lips. Annie knew his arms would go around her, and they did so effortlessly. She snuck her fingers into his damp hair, kissing him the way she'd wanted for months to be kissed. Last semester he'd spurned the idea of her, but Jeff responded to kisses and contact the way a child reacted to sweets: more, more, please more, hard candy or soft cream? Warm tongues or strong hands? Heat and power filled Annie with the knowledge that she could look at him and just _take_instead of asking.

She'd wasted so much time that way in the past: begging and hoping for what she wanted. Annie plunged her tongue one last time into his mouth then stepped away from his hold as quickly and forcefully as she could. With space between them again, she watched his face and listened to his breathing. His hair was mussed, and his lips were shiny with her saliva. Annie wiped a hand across the corner of her own mouth.

"Um," said Jeff. He was too stunned to talk, that was good. Annie nodded to him, grabbed her purse against her hip, and ran for the door.

"So...are we friends again?" he shouted after her.

"Yes!"


	2. High Minded Rhetoric and Empty Gestures

**Spoilers:** 3x02

**Summary:** There's flirty, there's longing stares, and then there's the stuff these two put themselves through.

* * *

.

**GEOGRAPHY OF GLOBAL CONFLICT**:

**High Minded Rhetoric and Empty Gestures  
**

.

_We're gonna smile the entire time._

_._

_._

The bustle of the food, people, and academic chitchat provided an appropriate soundtrack to Annie's mentally enhanced walk across the cafeteria. She zeroed in on her target, kept to the path, and gripped the straps of her backpack. When she got close to the target and cleared her throat, he looked up from a pile of spinach leaves.

Annie stuck out her chest, lifted her chin, and handed the representative of Uruguay his Greendale Interstellar VISA.

"What's this supposed to be?" queried Jeff, examining the folded square of paper with a giant stamp on it and a Clip Art picture of the Earth.

"Passports to Earth Two," she said. Then she added in her own defense, "Abed made them yesterday."

"Didn't we win already?" Jeff commented. "We broke their banner and crushed their united spirit. You going to sit down or what?"

"No," declared Annie. "This time I'm not sitting down. In fact, you're going to stand up."

A cricket chirp would've been at home in that moment, if there were any crickets left after the campus mold problem. Awkwardness aside, getting Jeffrey Winger to do something was only a matter of pushing the right buttons. Annie seemed to pick the wrong buttons most of the time, but this one she figured she could handle.

"And why's that?" he asked without rising.

Annie leaned forward, shoved her bountiful natural gifts right into his line of site, and said, "Please?"

"NNNNnnnnnnnnnn," breathed Jeff. "NNnnnnnnnn—Fine." He stood up.

"Lead the way," he gestured, and she did.

Out in the sunshine, Annie guided him to a less public corner of the grounds. Garret was sleeping on a bench about forty feet away, but the picnic grass was empty and nobody cared about Garret anyway.

"Congratulations," said Jeff with a smirk. "You used your feminine wiles to get me someplace private. Very adult, very mature."

"Don't pretend you didn't like it," she retorted. "And that brings me to the main point. I'm not happy with the way we left things yesterday."

Sticking his hands in his pockets where they were safe from doing anything touch-y, Jeff puffed out a sigh. He shrugged his shoulders, and examined the absolutely fascinating atmospheric cloud structure above Greendale. He added a rocking of his heels for good measure, and it was this last part that made Annie smack him in the chest with her notebook.

"Ow!"

"Stop trying to blow me off!"

He raised his hands defensively. "Okay, okay! I'm listening, I promise."

"Good," Annie huffed. She put her notebook and bag on the ground then faced him with her hands on her hips. "That whole moment we said was gross... I can't get it out of my head. I don't want to think of you that way. It wasn't gross any of the times before! Of course, _you_ were pretending none of those times existed, which still makes you an asshole, but the point is, we're not gross. That's my decision. We aren't allowed to be gross. What do you think?"

Jeff raised his eyebrows. "I'm afraid I only have one solution to offer you, and it's the asshole solution."

Playing her bottom lip against her teeth, Annie regarded him. The honest warning was refreshing, but she was open to any idea, even if it was a bad. It's not like she didn't know Jeff already, so he couldn't possibly make her opinion worse. And as mean as Jeff tended to be, Annie couldn't fault his efficacy.

"Will it work?"

"Definitely."

"Okay," she said, "I'll hear you out."

Smoother and faster than the fall of gravity Jeff had her up against him, one warm palm splayed across her back and the other curling through her hair. Annie wanted to gasp but found she couldn't while his mouth pressed against hers with an ardency that nearly lifted her off her feet. She let his passion sweep her up in its cascading wave, fisting her hands against his chest. Two fingers slipped between his shirt buttons at the same as he released her lips to trail breathy kisses toward her ear.

"So," Jeff whispered in the most intimate tone she'd ever heard from a man, "Here's the thing..."

And then he turned and strode away.


	3. Great Standards and Expectations

I seem to write nothing but emotional confrontations so far. Yay for confrontations!**  
**

**Spoilers:** 3x03

**Summary:** Honesty doesn't always help a relationship.

* * *

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**COMPETITIVE ECOLOGY: **

**Great Standards and Expectations  
**

.

_We're gonna gonna be more happy._

_._

_._

Jeff flopped into the study room and came face to face with Todd's turtle. He leaned back in his chair and smoothly pulled out his phone. "Why is there a turtle on our study table? Is someone trying to get Todd to come back?"

"He just gave it to me," chided Annie. She put her arms on the tabletop and lolled her head at the slow-creeping reptile. "He said I was the only one who wouldn't light in on fire. ...And I was the only person here."

Jeff scowled. "Well, it's sitting where our biology books should be sitting. I thought we learned our lesson with the goat and the monkey?"

"Jeez, you're in a bad mood," retorted Annie. "It's just a turtle, it can't steal anything. It can't even get off the table without suiciding. Besides, why is Troy the only one who gets a mascot? Maybe I should call it Troy Balls."

"Wouldn't if I were you," said Jeff behind his cell phone. "You might make his week."

"Uuughhh, you're right," Annie groaned. She put the animal back in its terrarium and closed the lid. Inside the large turtle sidled up to a dish of water and a pile of lettuce as if it hadn't been fed in eons. Perhaps stupid, baby-loving Todd wasn't such a great turtle-master after all?

"I'll name her/him Darren, just in case it remains sexually ambiguous," concluded Annie. "Maybe I shouldn't even keep him. Or her. She/he almost died because of Britta's marijuana lighter. Even the monkey turned criminal after staying with us. Our love _is_ toxic."

"Hey!" Jeff kicked her chair leg. When she looked up he'd put his phone on the table and was gifting her with his full attention. "Speak for Pierce. _Your_ love is all-consuming, pink, and a little frightening with its focus, but it's not toxic."

Annie let that marinate for a second, then asked, "How do you know my love is pink?"

Jeff's neck straightened and his chin went in while his eyebrows went up. "Are you saying that if your love had a color it would _not_ be pink?"

"Well." Annie hedged. "Fuchsia, maybe. That's like... sexy pink."

He waved in a 'there you go, then' gesture and went back to his data phone. He was deep into a Zombie Farm invasion against the Frozen King when her next question startled him nearly into restarting the game.

"The idea of my love _frightens_ you?"

When in doubt, Jeff was not above pretending to be stupid. He'd seen how well it worked for other students at Greendale. "What? What are you talking about. I wasn't listening; there's an ice cream man I'm trying to kill with garden zombies here."

"You said," Annie pressed, "that my love was all-consuming and frightening."

"Did I say that?"

"Yes," she snapped, and grabbed the phone. Without hesitation she dropped it onto the terrarium, where it hit Darren and bounced into a pile of lettuce.

Jeff's brows were extremely furrowed at this point, and he split his attention between Darren and Annie with equal suspicion. His jaw clenched with near super-human restraint.

"Well?" he said with great care.

"Well?" snapped Annie.

"You obviously have something to say."

"I do! I want to know why love scares you. Why _my_ love is scary to you. Not—" She pointed at his chest and glared, "—that it's being offered up in any way, just to make that clear. But what is so scary about me, exactly?"

Sensing a conversation trap, Jeff lawyered up. He folded both hands together and took on his public speaking voice, which was deceptively softer and cooler than his regular tone. "Well, for a start, you're pathological."

"You've already said that."

"I'm not done," he cut back at her. "You're so controlling that anything which doesn't meet your exacting list of standards and expectations is treated as a problem. You meddle, and being in a relationship with you might be great until something went wrong, the whole thing spiraled into misery, and you went predictably overboard with your grief or rage to the point of making everyone around you miserable!"

"Oh," she whispered. Visibly shaken, Annie wrapped her arms around the terrarium and pulled it close against her chest. "So that's why. You think I'm unstable. And fascist. You think I'm an unstable relationship fascist."

Jeff sighed, and rubbed his forehead. "Annie, come on. I didn't say _that_. I only meant—"

"No," she said, standing up with the terrarium in her arms. "I can understand why you'd think that. Observationally, you might have some ground there." Her voice nearly broke, but she held it together for the finish. "I think you should know, however, that I'm not as exacting as you think. Our study group has been broken and flawed. It's failed to live up to educational standards several times. But I love our group, and I've never forsaken _anyone_ because they disappointed me. I don't see people that way."

Recalcitrant now, Jeff walked around the study table with hands outstretched, but she kept the turtle cage between them. "Look, Annie, I apologize. None of that was true. I'm just being an ass because you cornered me. Please don't cry."

"I'm not going to cry!" she snapped. The wetness in her eyes spoke to the contrast, but Annie fought to keep her ground. "I'm not disappointed in anyone, Jeff. But I have to say that I am disappointed in one thing. One thing I was really looking forward to. Guess it's not going to meet the standard after all. Someone's standards, anyway. So—So— I have to go home now."

"Annie, just wait a second," said Jeff.

"I have to feed Darren again," she announced, and marched out of the study room.

Jeff dropped into his chair, putting his forehead on the cool wood of the desk. He'd screwed up—again. Now she would be mad at him—again. Then yippee-ky-aye because _everyone_ else would be mad at him tomorrow. And no one would be getting any fuchsia.

He banged his head against the table experimentally. It hurt, and was in no way satisfying.

"The goddamned turtle has my cell phone..."


	4. A Better Universe

**Spoilers:** 3x04

**Summary: **The darkest timeline doesn't have to stay dark forever, not when you have help from your friends.

* * *

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**REMEDIAL CHAOS THEORY: **

**A Better Universe  
**

.

_We're gonna finally be fine._

_._

_._

"So here's the thing," Jeff said as he looked into the eyes of J. Pratchett, night security, and then cold-cocked him. "I really do have nothing left to lose."

Even before the troll accident, Jeff Winger had been a big guy with a long reach: the night guard went down in one hit. Lucky all around, considering Jeff only had one arm these days and a single punch was the best he could contribute. He reached down and filched a key card from the man's badge clip. He stepped over the prone body, wincing a bit at his victim's slack, sad face. His cell phone beeped, and he answered as he began to read the plaques next to each room. "Exter, Essen, Emmerson, Ellis... Hello?"

"Who is this?"

"Abed, you called me."

"Give your name or pass code."

"Fine," he growled. "This is Evil Jeff."

"Evil Jeff, this is Evil Abed."

"I think the likelihood of anyone impersonating us at this stage is pretty low."

"It's protocol. How did it go?"

Jeff smirked to himself, reading the names on his list against the numbers on the doors. Maybe a life of crime wasn't going to be as difficult as he'd always been convinced. He seemed to do just the same amount of work, and if he could coast through one, he could coast through the other. So far, hospitals were easy to break into. Maybe they should just stick to hospitals in the future.

"I'm in, and I have the patient list for this wing. Evers, Eckstrom, Eckenia...Ebert...wait, Eddison. Here we go. It's not room 254, it's room 268."

"That's why I said you need the list."

"I'm still not comfortable punching innocent security guards," Jeff felt compelled to add for the sixteenth time. They needed to get into victimless white collar crime ASAP. "Fucking good luck it wasn't a woman."

"As your use of profanity demonstrates, it's a dark timeline, Jeff." This was Abed's explanation for everything, and Jeff swung back and forth in accepting the philosophy. Today was a swinging-forth day, or he wouldn't have even been here. Abed clicked his tongue into the phone three times. "I have to cut off the call before we reach four minutes, so this is it. Retrieve the egg and we'll meet you on the outside."

"You two should have been the ones to do this," complained Jeff. He'd stopped in front of a heavy beige door and was staring at the bubbled glass in the middle of it. "I'm the speech guy, not action man. I'm supposed to talk you and Troy out of trouble—an extremely precise job that I can't perform if I'm locked up too."

"No, Jeff," Abed corrected. "You're the man who can coax the golden goose." The phone beeped and disconnected, Jeff sliding it back into his pocket. He swiped the pilfered key-card at the box, then pushed the door to room 268 open gently.

Inside, the small shape of a woman had burrowed under a sheet with her back turned to the door. He could see no reaction to the sound of oncoming footsteps.

"Annie," said Jeff a few feet from the bed. He crouched low on his heels, bringing his alarming height to about the level of her bed. "Annie, it's time to go."

The form on the bed turned under the covers and opened dark, baggy eyes to look at him. Annie Eddison's bottom lip was red and chapped, as if she'd been biting it. Her face went tight with anger, then softened for a moment, and settled at distantly stoic.

"I'm not going anywhere. I live here."

Jeff's eyes rolled over the bland, almost unfurnished room. Nothing sharp; even the pointed corners of a meager bookshelf had been sanded down. "My place is better. Troy's new place is good too."

"You're not allowed to be here."

"I made my way in."

"I hate your beard."

He touched his light brown goatee self-consciously, and grimaced. "Yeah, me too," he admitted. "It was a project requirement. Abed made a felt one for you."

Instead of rising to the humor, Annie's eyes tracked his every body movement, like a prey animal would. "What project?" she questioned.

"Project SAWCABU," he said with the kindest smile he had in him. "Save Annie While Creating A Better Universe."

Annie took a slow breath. "I've been saved, Jeff. I'm safe here. Nothing bad happens in this place."

"I could kidnap you, that would be something bad." He took a risk, and lifted his single hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. She didn't squirm away. "It's okay, you know. The time for punishment is over. Now is the time for acceptance. You can be safe with us. You'll be better, with us."

"What if I can't accept it? You always used to talk about my growing up, like it was this process you resented me for. Well," She sat up in a rush, turning her body so that her head was well above his, and looked down derisively. "What if I can't handle the real world? What if I can't handle that my friend died because of me, and you and Troy got... crippled... because of me."

"Then you'll live through it." Undaunted, Jeff put his hand over one of hers. This song and dance wasn't easy, because living through things was a constant challenge for him now. He couldn't say he was an expert at acceptance, either. But even with her youth Annie had been a burgeoning model for what he secretly wanted in himself as an adult: intelligence, idealism, determination. There was no more heart-opening deadline for either of them. Wanting to turn those thoughts to action, Jeff squeezed her hand.

"You are grown up, Annie. That process's come and gone, so handling it's a moot question. But this place—this isn't living, Annie. Come back where you belong. Come home, to our world."

She looked at the sheets, and dark hair toppled in front of her face. "Will you be there?"

"Yes," Jeff promised with another squeeze.

She nodded, then asked, as if it were taboo to hope for it: "Will Shirley and Britta be there?"

"They're waiting in the car outside. Britta has blue hair now, I'm sorry to report."

A grin tried to break across Annie's face, but just as fast it fluttered away, unfulfilled. "Do I have to see my family?"

"Never again unless you want to."

Annie began to breathe deeply, first one, two, then three in quick succession. She nodded her head, almost violently, and grabbed Jeff's forearm with both her hands. Like a spring he was up, pulling Annie with him as her bed sheets fell away. She wore little white socks, and no shoes.

"Where are you sneakers?" asked Jeff, and she pointed to a closet. While he pulled them out, along with two sweaters and a pair of jeans, Annie went to her desk. She stuffed her worn journal down the waist of her pajama pants and fished two candy mints from a secreted corner of the drawer. She turned around to see Jeff by the door, and offered one to him. When she realized he couldn't take the candy while also holding onto her stuff, she unwrapped his piece.

"Why the mints?"

"I don't want to face the world with bad breath. It wouldn't be... right." She tried to smile again, and this time held the expression long enough to pass it on to Jeff.

"Yeah," he said, and a bit of lost wonder crept into his voice. "Annie Eddison comes prepared for any adventure." She held up the mint, and Jeff felt her slip it onto his tongue. He lightly kissed her fingers as she pulled them away.

"Ready now, M'lady?" he asked.

"Ready, M'lord," breathed Annie, and opened the door to a better universe. **  
**


	5. Many Wild Years Ago

I seem to write nothing but emotional confrontations so far. Yay for confrontations!**  
**

**Spoilers:** 3x05

**Summary:** Is a monster born, or made?

**A few disclaimers: **I spent a great deal of time doddering at old maps of Europe/Asia and lists of regional names. To my dismay, Geoffrey, the fan name given to Evil Vampire Jeff, is an English name, not French like I was hoping. So, just pretend. And I make no claim as to the behavior of wild animals, or ancient farming practices. I also give some ret-conning to King Louis XIV, so please forgive me for messing with your historical characters, French readers. For non-French readers, did you know the name Percevel means "pierced valley"? It does! Anyway, I originally wanted to make this a post-episode story, where Pierce the magician hunts down the werewolf that murdered his idiot vampire nephew, and curses her to be reborn as Jeff's soulmate or something (that is a mean curse.) But instead I got all caught up on the backstory. So, here you are, fair readers! I'm also sorry that it has less to do with the song lyric than I'd like.

* * *

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**HORROR FICTION IN SEVEN SPOOKY STEPS: **

**Many Wild Years Ago**

.

_We're gonna get more calm and normal._

_._

_____- . - . - . - . - . -_

_On December 31st, 1638, for the first and only instance recorded in two thousand years, the earth cast its shadow upon the moon in a total lunar__ eclipse on the night of the winter solstice._

___- . - . - . - . - . - _

Anya was born in the snow drifts of the long winter, far to the East of the great salt sea. Among the villagers her family was old and affluent: Papa with his many goats of white and grey, Mama with her wisdom at cup and bowl. In the summer they grew herbs with their neighbors on a small plot carved out from the woods. Anya's three brothers ranged far and deep into the forest to collect lichen, flower, and root for her mama's rich, beautiful cheeses. When the white months came the family spent many nights in the small house her father's father's father had built for the goats, huddled between warm bodies and think pelts. Anya's family had not lost a child to cold in three generations, so every supper her mama and papa blessed their ancestors for their great wisdom, and thanked the spirits of the forest for such a wealthy inheritance.

On the longest night of the longest winter, the moon was heavy and low. It perched above the snowy pines, as round as Mama's belly, and tendrils of fog caressed its edge. Mama screamed and screamed at the solstice moon, so bright through the window slit, as her last child slid into the Baba Motya's hands. There were no screams from the infant, but its eyes opened as wide and blue as a spring morning. Baba Motya wiped the babe with old rags and wrapped her in the pelt of fur that had held each of her brothers once. She carried the child down the snowy walk toward the goat house, where the men waited to receive the child and name her, but as Baba Motya looked across the forest to the heavy moon, she heard a great howl in the West.

One howl became many, a chorus of wolves to serenade the night, and the white moon changed to gold before Baba Motya's eyes. As the golden globe climbed higher into the night, a great shadow passed across its face. The babe in her arms, so silent through the trauma of birth, began to cry at last. Baba Motya hugged the little girl, whispered desperate little rhymes to her as the call of the wolves rose around the homestead. Songs of hunger and loneliness battered the old woman from every side in terrible wails until the great shadow waned and the moon bled gold and finally white again. As yellow faded from the eye of the gods, so did the howls of the forest wither into empty snowfall.

When all was silent but for the whisper of gentle snowflakes, a latch turned in the goat house and Papa stumbled into the white world, as if freed from a great spell. He ran through the drifts to Baba Motya, babbling in fear for his family, and the old woman gave him his daughter. "Sevastion, this child belongs to the forest. The spirits of the night have made their claim, just as they claimed my old _deda_."

"She is ours," said Papa. "I will not give her to the wild. We will keep her safe."

Baba Motya nodded. "Then love her and keep her safe. But there will be no bridesgift for your daughter. There will be no hearth and home. One day she will go to the forest, and mayhap she will be our protector. Or mayhap she will prey upon us with tooth and claw."

Papa hugged the child, and looked desperately at the cabin where is wife still lay with two girls from the village. He looked at Baba Motya one last time. "You will tell no hungry ears the events of this night. Not what you saw, nor what you have prophesied. My daughter's life hangs upon your silence."

"Your daughter's life may cost us everything," warned Baba Motya. "We never know, with a child of the forest, which way their heart will turn."

"My daughter will not be a beast," pledged the goat keeper. "She will love us, be a part of the our family, and if one day the forest calls her, then she will remember a village that loved her well."

They were true words, spoken in love, and truly kept for many years. Anya grew hearty and bold the shadows of the snowdrifts. Small of stature and pretty of face, Anya brought great joy to her family and hope to the village. She learned to weave winter wool and prepare summer cheese. She took long walks through the forest that bounded their home, and if she scraped her knees or cut her soft little hands against the bark, she never cried for it.

Baba Motya taught her lettering and figures, and how to draw the herbs of their land. She took scraps of precious leaf paper and charcoal on her walks through the forest, bringing her skill to the wild. Anya would often disappear for hours to map the woods, returning with word to her father on the best meadows to graze the goats, and where the predators slept. These jaunts into the wilderness terrified her Mama, who told Anya endlessly of the great bears that would eat anything, and the wolves that might mistake a girl covered in a fur cloak for any other soft, pretty animal. But when one of Anya's brothers tried to accompany her, she would run off, laughing, into the white. Always, she would return, and always she was safe.

In the spring after her fourteenth nameday, Anya left the cabin at daybreak to go South and search for signs of the elk passage. With her drawing tools and her sling, she climbed over rocks and pushed through shrubs, walking four hours to find the herd trail. Delight suffused her to see the path had been trodden heavily since the snowfall two days before. If she could find the herd before it moved out of range, Anya could lead her brothers and her father to a rich hunt that would give them all new furs and fresh venison. After nearly three hours more she found her prize: nearly a dozen of the animals stood in a glade, chewing bark and nibbling fresh spring grasses that peaked out of the snow.

Anya stood above the elk and watched them, her eyes fixed on their wide, strong necks. Though she had never told her parents, sometimes she could look at a creature and see instantly their weakest joint or most vulnerable flesh. For many minutes Anya watched the elk, imagining the blood that flowed through their hearts, pumping steadily underneath dark hairs and tough hide. She imagined how easily they could be picked off, the excitement of such a wild hunt making her smile. Anya had only her sling, but with claws a wolf might rip into that thick fur. Perhaps the buck: it stood as a fine creature in the center of the glade. Tall and glorious, with antlers sharp atop muscles strong, it could kill with one kick. No, one of the females off to the side would be likeliest for a pack to take down. Best would be the creature with a white star on its back; she clearly favored her right foot. That one would be lucky to make it out of these woods at all, now that the big predators would return with the spring weather.

Shaking herself free of the mesmer, Anya backed quietly into the cover of trees. She regained the herd trail and began to walk, making quicker time back to her village now that she knew the path. But even with confidence it took the rest of the day to return, and sunset was still early this time of year. Twilight had fallen when Anya crested the ridge above her home, and she looked at the two small buildings with night eyes. Unlike her brothers, Anya needed no torch to see clearly; this night was fortunate enough to show promise of a full moon rising.

As she gazed upon the homestead, a great terror welled in Anya's chest. There was blood on the grass and the snow before the door to their cabin, and a trail leaving the goat house. Two dark lumps had fallen to the ground before the homestead, and there were smaller, bloodier lumps where the goats had been released. Panicked hoof prints scattered across the snow in every direction. Anya started as a terrible roar, followed by a crash, rang out from the cabin.

Screaming, Anya ran toward her family home. When she passed the bodies on the ground she could not stand to look at them, afraid that their shapes were already too familiar. But when she nearly stumbled into the man at the foot of the cabin door, she couldn't hold back her tears. Papa's brown beard was stained black from blood that gushed above dead eyes. A deep tear rent his middle, and one of his hands was simply gone. There was another cacophony inside, and a roar so monstrous that Anya began to cry. She pushed through the door to the cabin and saw terror brought to life: a great bear, his white fur painted red with her family's sacrifice, stood atop Mama's body. Its head was buried in her mother's stomach, chewing noisily, and before Anya could scream again her oldest brother, still miraculously unhurt, flung himself at the creature with his long knife.

"Yoseph, no!" Anya shrieked, but no words could have stopped the young man. He landed atop the bear's neck, and with a ferocious growl the white monstrosity swiped one arm at the attacking human. Yoseph wheeled at the blow and fell, unmoving.

Anya could not think, could not breathe, but for her anger. Grief and horror gave way quickly to rage. Hot and terrible, the anger flooded down her spine. It went to the tips of her fingernails and through her legs to the ground. Anger covered her skin like fire, until her scream was not a scream but a howl. Anya, child of the forest and daughter of the moon, fell upon the bear and savaged it. Her legs were strong as trees, her jaw as tight as iron. Anya ate the bear's eyes to blind it, leaping away as quickly as she had struck. As it roared and smashed she jumped at it again, sinking her fangs into the animal's neck. If a wolf had been fool enough to challenge such a creature, the bear would have killed it as it murdered her brother. But Anya was not a common wolf to peck at the heels of rabbits and reindeer. Anya was born a monster, blessed by the spirits of the forest on the night of the darkened moon, and she claimed her inheritance with the death of a snow bear. When it fell she howled her grief and her victory, singing to the night while the blood of her mother mixed with the blood of the man-killer.

When she had eaten the bear's great, hot heart, Anya rose from its carcass and padded on soft feet out of her childhood home. She crossed the small farm and slipped into the Western woods. She wound between trees and slept under stars. For many eves she traveled, loping across creekbeds and beyond the territory of her people. On the twelfth morning she awoke in the hollow of a tree, human and hungry.

Anya would never go back to that village, never even return to her country in all the centuries that followed. She journeyed West for years, and learned to balance the wolf inside her heart with the woman inside her mind. With womanhood the wolf change became swifter and less painful, but even as her breasts grew large and her face grew slim, Anya knew she would carry no babe to fullness. She spent years in villages and then cities, learning new languages as she went. She paid for clothes and small luxuries with her skill in writing and numbers. Hunger was never a true threat to a daughter of the moon, and if a villager should ask why she did not get older as other women did, Anya would simply disappear to the forest and the ever-lonely roads.

Over the rivers of Lithuania and through the Kingdom of Poland she traveled, always Westward. The lands of Hungary, Romania, Germania were home to her for many years. She was called Ania and Inya, Aine and Anyara. The great cities of Holy Roman Empire gave way to the warm waters of the Mediterranean Sea, to the music of Spain and eventually the wine of France. She was Anna, Annie, Angelique, and Annabelle. She was a lover but never a true wife, a nurturer but never a mother. She could be mistaken for a normal woman, but there was no calm inside her unless night had fallen and the moon was full.

She built wealth and a title, being free of the trappings of poverty by marrying a thrice-widowed _Seigneur_ of distant noble relation. When he raised his hand to strike her, she killed him as he had killed his last wife, a village girl of thirteen. By day she was a lady at the King's Court of Versailles, and by night the countryside belonged to her song. She roamed the hills and kept the peace after sunset, hunting game for pleasure and hunting men for justice. Bandits were torn from their saddles; murders and rapers were savaged without mercy. When Louis XIV heard tale of a great wolf beast that reigned at night as he reigned by day,_ le Roi-Soleil_ offered a purse heavier than a calf's head for any man who could bring him his rival's pelt, the true skin of the Wolf King.

She laughed off the human hunters with frail limbs and weak noses. She believed the purse would go unchallenged forever, until one morning she stopped in the marketplace of her village to scent a man who was not a man. He wore a emerald-colored vest above flowing white sleeves and elegant leggings; none of the clothes were the newest fashion, but all were made with exquisite tailoring and handsome cloth. He turned to catch her eyes on him, and smiled a ravishing grin.

Tall and fair, more beautiful and lusty than any lord she had seen at Court of Versailles, the stranger bent his knee and kissed her hand.

"Most comely lady, flower of this summer morning, I am Geoffrey of Lorraine, great nephew of the _Vicomte_ Percevel. Tell me what you should wish, and I will see it done."

Though some years older than her in appearance, there was vitality and deliberate purpose in each movement he made, as if no one before him had ever drank so fully of the cup of life. She blushed at his focused attraction, and said, "Such pretty words, my Lord. How does it happen that you are in our humble village?"

The man who was not a man chuckled, and released her palm with a second ghosting kiss. "Not humble at all, fair dewdrop. Your village is the heart of a great mystery, and the King has challenged the gentlemen of his court to see that mystery solved. I have come to hunt the Wolf King, keeper of the night stars, and gift his Grace with the monster's pelt."

Maintaining the play of words was easy enough, but a tremor snaked in underneath her pleasure. Many years had come and gone since she last met a creature who was not human, and never had one dared to hunt her. "Tell me my good Lord, what makes a man such as you capable of killing this terrible beast, when other men have returned with neither victory nor glory?"

"Ah-ahh, My Lady," countered Geoffrey, "It's too early in the game to give away my secrets. But you may sleep well at night, knowing that I will succeed, and this creature shall be King of the underworld soon enough." This invocation of the underworld unsettled her, for she could tell he was not one born of nature, not a son of the moon. While her kind smelled of snow, leaves, and wet bark, he smelled like fire.

He smelled like blood.

Tilting her head until her hair fell delicately across her neck, she wished him luck. "You are so brave, my Lord, that I hope your confidences are true. I would hate to hear of your injury or demise at the claws of a child of the forest."

"And who hopes for me, my Lady?" The lord stepped up to her, too close for a woman of her station. His reek of fire repelled her first senses, but the underlying odor of blood was intoxicating; it tickled her own veins to life until she swallowed hungrily at the morning air. The pupils of his eyes grew into deep pools of black. As his gaze rose from her bodice to her flushed cheeks, he whispered, "What lovely name shall pray for me to succeed on this... great... hunt?"

She raised a silk-gloved hand to press against his embroidered vest. He leaned in as she said, "I am called Antoinette." She held his distance with her fingers as she stepped away, reluctant to stop touching the fine cloth over his muscles.

Antoinette breathed deeply, and smiled at him as she had smiled at an elk buck, many wild years ago. "You will see me again, my Lord."

He bowed. "My Lady."

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End file.
